


Drastic Loss

by bgharison



Series: Tenacious Men [2]
Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Gen, Steve has a tragic past, vague reference to non-canon character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-18
Updated: 2018-11-18
Packaged: 2019-08-25 13:37:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16661991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bgharison/pseuds/bgharison
Summary: “So I am dead.”“No, silly.  Well. Maybe for a second or two.  Enough for a window, not enough for me to stay or you to come with me.  But that’s okay. There’s so much more for you to do here.”“The team needs me.”“Yes, but there’s so much more -- you’re not getting it.  For you to do.  Not for you to do for other people.  For yourself.  There’s love, and family.  Things you haven’t had yet.  Things you deserve.”





	Drastic Loss

**Author's Note:**

> NaNoWriMo2018 project (in true NaNo unbeta'd unedited fashion) a series of unrelated shorts based on a Philip Roth quote in a New York Times interview.
> 
> "The drama issues from the assailability of vital, tenacious men with their share of peculiarities who are neither mired in weakness nor made of stone and who, almost inevitably, are bowed by blurred moral vision, real and imaginary culpability, conflicting allegiances, urgent desires, uncontrollable longings, unworkable love, the culprit passion, the erotic trance, rage, self-division, betrayal, drastic loss, vestiges of innocence, fits of bitterness, lunatic entanglements, consequential misjudgment, understanding overwhelmed, protracted pain, false accusation, unremitting strife, illness, exhaustion, estrangement, derangement, aging, dying and, repeatedly, inescapable harm, the rude touch of the terrible surprise — unshrinking men stunned by the life one is defenseless against, including especially history: the unforeseen that is constantly recurring as the current moment."
> 
> This one is a bit of a tag/coda for S6E25.

“It started a week after Malia’s memorial,” Chin said, shaking his head at Grover, who was still half laughing, half crying.  “I’d be lying there, wide awake, my heart just . . . bleeding out. The phone would ring, and it would be McGarrett.”

“Middle of the night,” Grover said.  He leaned against the offensive vending machine.

“Two, three am.  I answer the phone and it’s Steve.   _ Hey, Chin, watcha doin? _  Like, like he’s giving me the option to say sleeping.   You know? Except, of course, I wasn’t, and he knew that.  So then he says, every time -- ‘You wanna get some coffee?’  So he meets me at the diner, and he just -- sits there with me.  Sits there, quiet, reading the paper. So I didn’t have to be alone.”

“That’s McGarrett.  How long did that go on?”

“A long, long time.  Once I started getting my bearings again, we would talk, sometimes.  About the team, about how the kids were doing --”

“Our kids?”

“Yeah, your kids, Danny’s kids . . . what, you think we come to their school plays and their games out of some sense of obligation?  About Mary. About Malia. We talked a lot about Malia. Well, I talked, he listened.”

Grover nodded.

“And one night, I said to him, I don’t know how I’m going to get over this.  He poured me some more coffee, and says, ‘Catherine asked me the same thing -- how does anyone get over something like this.’”

“And I say to him, what’d you tell her?  Because I’m hoping, maybe he has some answers, you know?”

Grover reached out, wrapped a huge hand around Chin’s shoulder.

“And McGarrett says, ‘You don’t.’  And then I knew, that’s how he knew I was awake in the middle of the night, so lonely I could just . . . just die, you know?  Just give up. And -- then I look at him, really look at him, and I realized, all these weeks, he’s sitting there, keeping me company, because he knows how it feels.  He knows the emptiness, the way you feel like it’s just going to swallow you up, because he’s been through it.”

“I didn’t know.  Man.”

“So I asked him, you know, if he wants to talk about it.  And of course, he says, ‘Nah, I’m here for you, brah.’ But . . . you know, I can’t imagine, people just forgetting about Malia.  Yeah, sometimes it hurts to talk about her, to remember, but . . . the idea that the world will just move on without her, that’s even worse, you know?  And I’m realizing . . . none of us know about this -- this drastic loss of Steve’s.”

“Always more concerned about everyone else’s pain.”

“Exactly.  So, I tell him, no, let me help you keep her memory alive, just like you’re helping me do with Malia.”

“So he told you?”

“Yeah, he did.  And -- I mean, it’s not my story to tell.  It’s very private. But . . . it helped. I like to think it maybe helped him, too.”

Grover started to reply, but there was a flurry of activity in the waiting room.

“The surgeon,” Chin said.  

They rushed to join the others.

 

***

 

Steve hurt.  He hurt so bad, in so many places, it all blurred together into one giant ball of agony.  And the thing of it was, he could tell that it was being dulled, that he wasn’t even feeling the brunt of it.  Thank God for drugs, but what even, what had he done this time?

“What have you gone and done this time, Steven?”

He gasped, and tried to open his eyes.  He couldn’t, not exactly, but he could still see her.

“Ju -- Julia?”

She smiled. No.  Strike that. She beamed.  She glowed.

“How?”

And then he realized.  Only one way.

“I’m dead?  I’m dead.”

She laughed, and it was as gorgeous as he remembered.  Pure. Her laugh was joy and innocence.

“You’re not dead, Steven.”

“I think I want to be dead.”

“The world doesn’t need you dead.”

He groaned, or thought he did.  Someone did. 

“No, I mean it,” he insisted.  “I’m tired. I’m done. I want to be with you, Julia.”

“Ah.  So you haven’t forgotten me?”

“Never.  Not ever.”

He felt a gentle wave of warmth wash over him, and he wanted to let it carry him away.  If there really was a God, and an afterlife, maybe it would carry him to Julia. He felt a tear slip from the corner of his eye and track into his hair, but he couldn’t lift his hand to wipe at it.  

“It doesn’t matter, you know, if someone does see a tear, Steven.  You let Chin Ho Kelly see. It helped heal him.”

“Malia?”

“It doesn’t work exactly that way, she’s not in my presence, but yes, I know about Malia.”

“So . . . I wouldn’t be with you?”  That was disappointing.

“Even if it worked that way, it’s not time.”

“You’re here, now, so maybe it does work that way.  Maybe we could make it work that way.”

“I came while you were between breaths, between heartbeats, Steven.  Sometimes there’s a window. Sometimes there’s this wonderful, terrible window and because you are such an idiot -- such an idiot -- I’ve been at this window before.  This is just the first time you’ve noticed. Maybe because Joe isn’t screaming at you this time.”

“So I am dead.”

“No, silly.  Well. Maybe for a second or two.  Enough for a window, not enough for me to stay or you to come with me.  But that’s okay. There’s so much more for you to do here.”

“The team needs me.”

“Yes, but there’s so much more -- you’re not getting it.  For  _ you _ to  _ do _ .  Not for you to do for other people.  For yourself. There’s love, and family.  Things you haven’t had yet. Things you deserve.”

“I loved you, Julia.”

“Yes, but you didn’t get to keep me.  There’s more for you, and you get to keep it, and enjoy it.”

“Family?”

“Ohana.  More and more, growing and expanding from the little ohana you built for yourself.”

He hesitated.  He wanted to stay here, stay wrapped in this warmth, stay in the glow that was Julia, that was . . . something else, too, something familiar.  But already, he felt a sensation of coolness slipping into his veins, sliding up his spine.

“I’m -- Catherine?”

Julia laughed again.  He couldn’t see her now, but he picture her, the sun sparking off her hair, in wild tumbles of waves around her face, like it had that first time he met her.  And he could hear her, that laugh. He felt the corners of his mouth twitch up, even though he wasn’t entirely sure why.

“Oh, Steven, really?  You know you prefer blondes.  I thought you would have sorted that out by now.”

 

***

 

Danny was relieved -- so relieved -- when he woke up first.  He dreaded breaking the news to Steve, that he was the proud owner of part of Danny’s liver, but he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he had to be there, had to be present, when Steve was informed.  Now, though, as he glanced anxiously at the clock on the wall for the third time in -- fifteen minutes, how had it only been fifteen minutes, it felt like hours -- he was starting to look forward to telling Steve, only because it meant that Steve would be awake, and confused, and even in pain, but that seemed better than the other worst-case-scenarios currently queing up in Danny’s muddled head.

Steve’s hand twitched, and he made a soft, low sound of pain.

Danny watched, holding his breath.  An expression moved over Steve’s face . . . peace.  Danny had never seen him so completely at peace -- every furrow, every hint of scowl, of concentration, just -- gone.  His lips moved soundlessly, his hand twitching again. And then, Danny watched, his heart clenching painfully in his chest, as a tear slipped out of Steve’s tightly closed eyes and rolled down across his temple, disappearing into the flat pillow beneath his head.

“Steve?” Danny’s voice was hoarse.  Steve didn’t respond.

Danny watched, anxiety and curiousity alternately prompting him to reach for the call button and then stop.  Steve was frowning now, a version of aneurysm face, and Danny held his breath.

“Julia.”  

The name was breathed out on a sigh, and if Danny hadn’t been perfectly silent and completely focused, he would have missed it.  He reached for the call button, eyes still on Steve’s face, and he -- there, he was sure of it, Steve’s lips were quirking up in that soft half-smile of his.  

“Steve?” Danny tried again, and this time, Steve’s head listed toward the sound of his voice.  “Steve, you with me?”

His eyelashes fluttered against his cheeks, and then Steve’s eyes were opening, slowly.

 

***

 

There was a familiar sound.  A voice, calling his name. Danny. 

_ Danny. _

If Danny was with him, too, did that mean --  he turned his head toward the sound, searching.  He fought his way to the surface, forced his eyes open.  Sunlight was filtering in through a window behind Danny, lighting his inexplicably tousled hair and making it glow, all golden waves.  There was an oxygen cannula, and an IV line -- not dead, then, very unlikely that Danny was dead. But hurt.

“How bad?” Steve croaked out.

“I’ve called for the doctor, you’re gonna be okay, Steve.”

“No.  You?”

“I’m fine, it’s okay.  Just -- there’s a lot to explain, but we’re both gonna be fine.” 

“Both -- alive?”

Danny chuckled.  “Yeah, we’re both alive.”

Steve let his eyes drift back shut, but no . . . seeing Danny was better.  He grunted and forced his eyes back open. 

Danny was half-smiling at him.  “It’s okay. Not going anywhere.”

Steve’s eyelids slipped closed again, against his will, but with his face turned toward Danny, he could still sense the warmth, the light.

“You are not gonna believe . . .” Danny said, and he laughed.  And even though his breath hitched with pain -- Steve had to figure out why, soon -- it was so perfect, so . . .  _ familiar _ .  And Danny was still talking -- of course, he would be -- “. . . so the thing is, I guess, you get to keep me . . .”

 

**Author's Note:**

> There's more to this story, of course . . .


End file.
